


ESIFF Collection

by BarqueBatch



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Character Death, Established Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Johnlock Fluff, Johnlock Roulette, M/M, Not all tags will apply to all chapters, POV Harry Watson, Prompt Fic, Snark!, Tags updated each chapter as necessary, writing challenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-26
Updated: 2014-03-09
Packaged: 2018-01-13 20:10:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1239283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BarqueBatch/pseuds/BarqueBatch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I'm taking part in Edye's Study in FanFiction so I'll be putting all my submissions for that study under this one title. :) Will likely be all Johnlock unless otherwise noted. I will update with more tags as they apply.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Vague Apology

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt:  
> In less than 550 words, write a drabble that is primarily dialogue between John and Sherlock. Minimal details and description are allowed (ex. “he sat in a chair” “he stood” “he glared at John”), but nothing else. The context is entirely up to you. Practice brevity. Develop character voices. Capture the essence of their relationship.

“John-”  
“No.”

“No?”  
“Hell no.”

“I’ve only said your name!”  
“Yes, and I’ve gotten very good at knowing what’s coming just by how you say my name when I get home from work.”

“I highly doubt that, and you are in fact wrong.”  
“Doubt all you want. You’re not the only one that can catalogue things. You wanted me to go back out for milk, Mr. Lazyarse.”

“Lazyarse? Are we twelve now, John?”  
“We aren’t. You’re stuck more around five, I think.”

“Oh, seen many five-year-olds at crime scenes then?”  
“You mean besides victims? Yeah, between you, Anderson and Donovan, Lestrade and I feel like bloody babysitters.”

“Did you really just utter my name in the same breath as those morons?”  
“In that context… yeah I did.”

“Then you should definitely move your things back upstairs. Can’t have you sharing a bed with a five-year-old. That would certainly void your consultant status, I think. Oh and I revoke your present as well.”  
“Oh don’t be like that. You know what I– Wait…? Did you say present?”

“Yes.”  
“Really?”

“Well not now, it’s revoked.”  
“Where is it?”

“In the land of revoked goodies.”  
“Okay just stop. You know what I meant, you git.”

“Oh now I’m a five-year-old git. I see now.”  
“Actually you’re a colossal git that has childish tantrums of epic proportions until people around you either cave or run screaming… or in tears.”

“You don’t.”  
“Well I’m an idiot, as you love to remind me.”

“I can’t really argue that particular point.”  
“Uh huh…. So my present is where?”

“You don’t get it now!”  
“Right. Okay, I’ll be back with Mrs. Hudson, Mrs. Turner and her ‘married ones’ in about ten minutes.”

“What? Why would you bring them all up here?”  
“Oh Mrs. Hudson and I were talking about doing a weekly bridge game.”

“In here? Why here? Why would you want to do anything weekly with them?”  
“Because my boyfriend’s a colossal git.”

“That’s no reason to invade our flat with a throng of flailing drama whores who love to hear themselves speak!”  
“Oh you should definitely join us then. You’ll fit right in.”

“I’m not a drama whore!”  
“Ha!”

“John… John!”  
“What?”

“This is blackmail.”  
“I do learn well, don’t I?”

“it’sonthemantle.”  
“I’m sorry, what?”

“On. The. Mantle.”  
“What is?”

“John.”  
“Hehe, okay… Oh. It’s… a new jumper… It looks like my favorite jumper…the one you ruined with hydrochloric acid…”

“Yes.”  
“Where did you find another one? I looked all over for a replacement!”

“Not everywhere, clearly.”  
“I don’t know what to say, Sherlock… Thank you. I don’t know where you found it but thank you.”

“You’re welcome, John.”  
“I’m uh…”

“What?”  
“Well I’m surprised you bothered. I thought you hated this jumper.”

“Yes well… boring as it was, it did suit your build better than the rest.”  
“Meaning you liked that it was tighter than the others.”

“It might have brought out the cobalt of your eyes more as well.”  
“Cobalt! Imagine that.”

“John…?”  
“Yeah…?”

“No weekly bridge.”  
“Hmmm... I was really looking forward to those. Do you have something better in mind that'll help me unwind?”

“Perhaps.”  
“I’ll need to try it out before I cancel them.”

“John-”  
“Hmm?”

“It wasn’t milk I was wanting.”  
“Oh Christ. Bedroom. Now.”


	2. My Brother

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt:  
> In less than 1500 words, write a oneshot that covers the span of someone’s life (could be any Sherlock character). You can separate it however you’d like, and the tense/POV is entirely up to you (it might be interesting to tell the story from the point of view of someone else; Mycroft observing Sherlock’s life, e.g.). Can also be AU. Lots of options!

I remember when I first held him, my brother. Fresh home from hospital with fair, downy fuzz on his head. John as a baby wasn’t that much different than John the man, meaning he was always quiet… until he wasn’t. I was never a broody girl but I looked down at the little bloke and thought, “Hey maybe this won’t be too bad at all.” I thought twice about that after that first really dodgy nappy change, but I was always protective of Johnny even when I wanted to wallop him for getting into my things.

He was a happy kid. He was happiest when he had the chance to do truly stupid shit. I will never forget having to sneak a change of clothes over to his friend’s house after they got the crazy idea in their heads from some idiot American kid that tipping sleeping cows over in the middle of a field could actually pass for fun. The cow was almost taller than Johnny. I don’t know what he was thinking but that damned kid had the most riotous grin on his face and that little hyena giggle of his kept drowning me out every time I tried to warn him that Dad would blow a fuckin’ gasket if he found out. Johnny’s eyes only darkened a little at the mention of Dad, but then he was back to laughing like a twit. 

They didn’t get along at all but I don’t really want to talk about that. Dad had his demons. We all tried to just stay clear. We didn’t get on well either, me and Johnny, but when it came down to it, I’d always defend him against anyone. I’m ashamed to admit that eventually he needed protecting from me too. Drinking was a way to escape my life until I could get out from under our parents’ roof. When I stumbled into the house drunk one night at the all-knowing age of sixteen and gleefully announced that I was very much gay was the first time Johnny stood up to our Dad. Once the police were gone, I couldn’t stay there anymore. I moved out and it’s still a regret that I left Johnny alone to deal with the brunt of our father. When he was sixteen he moved in with me. By then I was drinking heavily and by all accounts I’m not a pleasant drunk. I wouldn’t know. I never remember it. It was why Johnny joined the Army though, I’m sure of it. He needed to get away from his lunatic family.

Before the Army, Johnny got himself funding for medical school. He always was the smart one of us Watsons. That’s the thing that always put me in a twist; everyone had it wrong. He was always clever and observant. I’m sure anyone would look stupid next to that twat he idolized, but that kid breezed right through med school. It came to him naturally and he planned to be a surgeon. I would have given anything to keep John here for that to happen, but he desperately needed to be a better man than our father had been. I told him that he didn’t need to join up to prove that, but like I said, he needed to get away.

I said John didn’t change much as he grew up, but that’s not really true. When he was overseas the letter I got from him was… I don’t know... alive? What he talked about scared the hell right out of me but my brother was thriving. He had mates there that became family until that horrible day they were pinned down by insurgents. It took too long too get him help and the infection was so bad he nearly died. All that and I was the only one that could be bothered to sit by his side and talk to him. I may not have been sober for all of it, but I was there. Dad showed up eventually when Johnny woke up. I’d rather he just stayed home than to walk in and tell John he was embarrassed to tell his friends that his son was discharged after only taking a hit in the shoulder. I would have had him thrown out but he left on his own after dropping that lovely bit. Johnny didn’t speak for days after that other than to tell me to go home.

I didn’t like Sherlock Holmes when I first met him. I didn’t like him for a very long time and he made no secret of not liking me much either. I never liked the way he spoke to Johnny but I couldn’t look away from how happy my brother was. It’s hokey to say but he just glowed around Sherlock… sometimes from anger, yeah, but also from the pure joy of just being around that git. Johnny never had trouble with birds. He always had a charm about him, but he never could keep one around long after he met Sherlock. It was plain as day to me but he’d just roll his eyes at me when I mentioned it. It didn’t really matter. They were content in their chaotic world.

When Sherlock jumped from that roof I watched my brother fold back in on himself just like he did when Dad left his hospital room. I hated Sherlock for that. None of us knew why until he came back. I still hated him but I was happy to have him back in John’s life if it meant showing Mary the door. Oh god that woman! Everyone was so in love with her. Even Sherlock was oddly charmed but I never could warm to her. Maybe it was woman’s intuition but I never felt she was right for John. It’s why I didn’t go to the wedding. I was hoping Sherlock would fuck it all up and then some but he swallowed his selfishness and stood up for Johnny. I hated him for that too. Of all the times to stop being a self-centered, immature twat!

It slipped after John moved back into 221B. John blew up at me and spilled that Mary wasn’t who he thought she was and that she’d shot Sherlock to cover her tracks. That was blow enough but then finding out baby Analise wasn’t his was just too much for him. John changed again after that, and not for the better. He very nearly fell down the same rabbit hole I did, but the person I least expected to save him did. Sherlock was there to pick up every piece. He stayed close as John railed against the world and most everyone in it. He played that bloody violin of his until Johnny stopped tossing and turning and finally got a decent night’s sleep. He made tea for a change and apparently came up with one hell of a hangover remedy just for John on those nights that were really rough. He slowly provoked my brother back from the darkness. For every little thing that made me hate Sherlock, I will never hear a bad thing about him for that alone. He saved my little brother. Again.

It didn’t surprise me when Johnny finally got up the nerve to tell me they’d gotten married. Didn’t surprise me when they retired to Sussex. It did surprise me to see Sherlock contentedly keeping bees in a garden. John had a small practice with just enough patients to keep him busy but not so many that it took away from his time with Sherlock. They often crossed the channel to a little town south of Calais to visit one of Johnny’s friends that owned a bed & breakfast. Johnny finally learned how to cook something other than crap bachelor food. Sherlock actually did dishes once in a while. There was calm and peace about them then that I’d never seen in either before. It was comfortable and right.

Johnny left us very suddenly and without warning. He was climbing the hill on his way up from the shore when he had the stroke. Sherlock found him about an hour later and he was beyond any comfort anyone could give him. People often define my brother by his fascination with Sherlock Holmes, but Sherlock was just as defined by his devotion to John. They were two very separate men who worked and lived and loved perfectly as a unit. So no, it didn’t surprise me one bit when I came to check on Sherlock and found him face down in the sand, half in the surf not quite a month later. Grief-driven dementia was the phrase I kept hearing but I knew better. It wrecked us both that Johnny died alone, but looking at Sherlock's gentled face while I waited for the authorities, my heart felt less heavy.

It was Johnny’s birthday. Arse that he was, Sherlock would never allow my brother to celebrate his birthday alone.


End file.
